


A Heavy Concentration of Light

by HeartofMossyStone



Category: Purple Hyacinth - Ephemerys & Sophism (Webcomic)
Genre: Creepy men!, Death!, Delirium!, F/M, Guns and shooting!, Happy ending bc they're important!, Hospitals!, I have so much first hand experience with waking up in hospitals lmbo, I held my hand over a candle to help me write pain and got yelled at by four of my friends, I imply romance I do not write it, I know enough about guns to make it work, It's taken me days, My brain says Gun Girl Kym Ladell, Needles and Syringes!, Poison!, So Kym is a gun girl and I love her for it, Worried I didn't do this well enough, but it's my first time writing anything quite this heavy, knives!, this is going to hurt, torture!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 17:34:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29579658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeartofMossyStone/pseuds/HeartofMossyStone
Summary: "Kym’s proper, coherent thought is that she was right. She is right. Will is holding her, and Lauren is standing right behind him, tears in her eyes, and someone brought the hot archivist along, which isn’t the worst visual to come out of a torture-induced-pain-blindness to, but nothing—possibly nothing in all the world—is as good or as right as the arms around her, and the shoulder on which she’s resting her head, and the voice ordering Lauren and Kieran to leave.""And finally, finally, Kym feels something besides pain, because it always feels like sunshine when he’s around."
Relationships: Lauren Sinclair & Kieran White, William Hawkes & Kym Ladell, William Hawkes/Kym Ladell
Comments: 6
Kudos: 35





	A Heavy Concentration of Light

I feel the need to overcompensate for my

Burdensome unwillingness to die

With an overzealous zeal for life—

A heavy concentration of light,

Balanced on the edge of every knife

And whispered in a solitary cry.

From  _ Confession  _ (Original)

  
  


·················•·················•

“Just go ahead and beat me up, moron. You have no idea who I am, do you?”

Kym Ladell, in true Ladell form, sits in a very deep pile of Things Going Wrong. The first thing that had gone wrong was waking up, seeing as she wouldn’t be here if she had avoided that bit. Next, she has to think… yes, her next mistake had been accepting the offer to go home early. There is safety in numbers and, though there is usually less safety in routine, there is certainly danger in the unexpected. 

Danger, which had—apparently—wanted her tied to a chair in this dingy warehouse and stands above her menacingly, is not in an especially good mood. The masked man sends his fist hurtling into her gut and she doubles over, coughing. Kym barely lifts her head before he hits her across the jaw. Her neck snaps to the side from the force. 

_ “You’re Sergeant Ladell, 11th precinct. You were tasked with uncovering the traitor known as  _ Lune _. You will tell me what you know.”  _ His voice is hoarse and grating.

Kym waits a moment. “Was there going to be any sort of “and I won’t kill you” tagged onto the end of that? Because that’s a sentiment I can appreciate.” 

An elbow to her temple later, Kym decides that taunting the man is not going to work out in her favor. Of course, that isn’t going to stop her; seeing as he has removed all three of her guns, including her personal handgun, her wit is the only weapon she possesses. 

_ “Tell me what you know about  _ Lune _ , Ladell.” _

Kym’s eyes snap to his, barely visible over the edge of his mask. “Don’t call me that. Don’t you dare call me that.”

The man snarls and shoves her back, knocking the chair over. As it falls, Kym’s arms are crushed under the backrest and her skull slams into the hard floor. Bright lights dance in her vision, at war with a swirling darkness at the edges. Her wrists hurt like a  _ sonofa— _ . 

She nearly retches as the chair is yanked back upright. The man shouts in her face, but he is blurry and her ears still ring from the impact. She feels what she knows is the cold blade of a knife pressing up against her cheek, drawing blood, but she can’t really appreciate the level of danger she was in. 

_ Just give me a moment _ , she thinks dizzily,  _ just a few more minutes and I’ll get up. _

·················•·················•

And to think, William Hawkes was having a good day. They were, to be brutally honest, few and far between. Of course, he couldn’t say that the day was good  _ because _ Ladell had vacated the office early, at least not where she could hear him, but the correlation invited consideration. 

Then, naturally, what was a reasonably good day became a very bad day. He could still blame it on Ladell, certainly, but it seems in poor taste, seeing as she has gone and  _ gotten herself kidnapped _ . How she managed to do that when she has so many weapons on her at all times blows Will’s mind, but it’s hardly important anymore.

Ladell is gone, there are no leads—which fortunately implies that her death isn’t terribly likely to have already occurred—and he has no idea what to do. The detectives only determined that it was a kidnapping after hours of no news or evidence, which meant they were still working on next to no information. He knows what Kym would do in his place, of course, because she has dragged him around too much for him not to know, but he doesn’t have her bravado or flair for the dramatic (nor Lauren’s deductive abilities and short fuse), so rushing into whatever seems the most likely lair, guns blazing, is probably a bad idea. 

Then again, there is nothing to say that, even if he could discover her location, she would still be alive upon his arrival. Perhaps she would, or perhaps she would be one more failure etched into his record—one more person he couldn’t save and one more thing he couldn’t fix, and one more regret that would haunt him for the rest of his life. 

Will’s mind quickly spins out of control, buzzing with dark possibilities and anger. They told him to  _ go home _ , to  _ let the detectives handle this _ , to  _ just come in _ the next morning. As if going home then wasn’t a betrayal of Kym’s trust in him as her friend and as her Lieutenant. Yet, had obeyed. He had gone home, like a rule-following Lieutenant or well-trained lapdog. 

Will smacks his head against the front door, and leaves it resting there as he fishes around for his keys, too tired to raise it up. Upon getting the door unlocked and open, he trudges inside. This is where the problems start, he knows, so he simply falls into routine.

Hang the coat. Take off the shoes. Go to the room, and take off the uniform. Put something else on—no, it doesn’t matter what today. Walk back into the front room. Sit down on the couch. Do not break down. Do not break down,  _ do not break down, donotbreakdowndonot—. _

He should have stopped it. Somehow.  _ Somehow _ . Had he said he needed her longer, or given her a reason to annoy him, or given her more paperwork, or even taken the opportunity for early release for himself, she would be safe. Had he done anything but been absolutely useless, Ladell would be safe. 

A knock on the front door breaks him out of his spiraling thoughts, and he stands to open it, partly relieved and partly aggravated. He had hoped to spend the rest of the day in solitude and is prepared to turn away whoever was at the door, but as it swings open, all such intentions melt. 

Lauren stands there, smiling sadly at him. Behind her, wearing a scowl to rival Officer Randall’s, is Kieran White. 

·················•·················•

“You wanna go? You wanna fight, you pansy? Untie my wrists and we can fight.” Yelling through a black eye and split lip is not Kym’s favorite activity, but it lets her keep up appearances. 

_ “What do you know about  _ Lune _?” _

Whoever it is behind the mask has one heck of a one-track mind. 

“What do  _ you _ know about Lune, moron? Let’s start there.”

Her kidnapper stomps down on her toes, grinding his heel in. The boots assigned to officers in the APD are reinforced, but not that well. Kym hears something crack and, given the cry that nearly breaks through her gritted teeth and the moisture sparking in her eyes, the crack probably means a break. 

_ “What. Do. You. Know?” _

“Everything!” Kym fights against the ropes holding her, no matter how much her wrists burn, or her foot hurts, or her ribs ache. “I know  _ everything _ about Lune and I won’t tell you anything.” 

“I’m glad to hear that.” A new voice wraps around the room, coming from behind Kym. It is soft and low, and chills Kym to the bone. “Generally, torture is used to loosen lips. Yours seem loose already, love. It’s your determination that’s the problem. Unfortunately, if you insist that you’ll never tell us anything… well, I’m afraid the pain won’t ever stop, even if you do break. After all,” A hand settles on Kym’s shoulder and the speaker leans close to her ear, “how can we trust that you’re telling the truth now?” 

Kym mutters words that would’ve made her mother cry. 

The new addition laughs and moves around Kym, a mask tugged up over his mouth and nose. “I don’t understand what’s keeping you mum, love. Isn’t it in  _ your _ best interest to see Lune destroyed? I would think you’d love the opportunity to foist the dirty work off on us.” 

Kym only glares in response.

“Ah well,” the man seems to be smiling under his mask. “Hold her still.” The words are directed towards the burly man who had previously been antagonizing Kym. 

She has to admit that this new guy scares her a lot more than the original, who seems particularly stupid and very straightforward in his methods of getting information. The new one… he scares her in a different way. Unpredictable, and possibly unhinged. He sets some kind of case down on the floor across the room from her and rifles through the contents. When he stands, he is holding a syringe and vial, and Kym understands why the burly man has been tasked with holding her still. 

Kym Ladell  _ hates _ needles. 

A clearly malicious glint sparks in the man’s eyes, and he waves the needle at her as he approaches. “This, love, is going to hold a chemical that you won’t like terribly much. It’s a proprietary blend.” Slowly, and holding the tools right in front of her face in a move that is clearly meant to build suspense, the man draws a measure of liquid into the syringe, then pockets the vial. “Do you understand science, Miss Ladell? I understand you’re meant to be smart.” He lifts the syringe to her neck. 

Kym thrashes harder than before, desperate to get away from the needle and from the hands holding her down, and from the ropes that chafe against her skin, and  _ why has no one come for her?  _ The burly man, who had been holding her shoulders, shifts his grip to still her head, leaving her neck open for the man with the syringe.

Kym feels her heart speed up, and her breathing matches it.  _ Not this, not this, not _ this.

But she can’t move. She can’t fight. She can’t do anything, and the needle slips under her skin. The little twinge of pain is barely there, then the syringe was extracted and the man smiles—or so it seems—expectantly. 

“Cut the ropes,” he orders. “It’s more fun when they thrash.” He tosses the used syringe across the room and Kym flinches when it clatters onto the floor. “Miss Ladell, you have around thirty seconds left before that begins to take effect. I suggest you use those thirty seconds to listen very closely: this is my pride and joy. It attacks the nervous system and creates a feedback loop of pain that remains until the last of it has been purged from the bloodstream, or until the antidote is administered. In other words, love, this will hurt.”

Kym’s last coherent thought is wondering whether the man has practiced the speech to make it precisely thirty seconds. Her next thought, much less coherent, is recognition of pure agony. Her bindings had indeed been cut, and she slides out of the chair nearly immediately, the hard surface of the floor feeling like a caress compared to the fire that dances just below her skin. Unable to stop herself, she scratches at her arms and legs and sides, anywhere she can reach, in some desperate attempt to ease the pain. A wave of agony spreads up her spine and she arches against the ground, no longer able to control her own body. 

As wave after wave of pain wracks her body, and she can do nothing but thrash around in whatever way hurts the  _ least _ , she faintly registers the sound of laughter echoing around her and mingling with… are those her cries? It doesn’t matter, she tells herself. It doesn’t matter if she cries. 

A particularly sharp burst of agony attacks her head and she stiffens, her skull cracking against the floor for the second time in far too short a period. Still, Kym thinks, she is awfully grateful for the numb darkness surrounding her. 

·················•·················•

“Lauren, it’s good to see you.” Will steps aside to let her in. “And… Mr. White. I didn’t realize you were friends with Ladell.” 

Kieran tilts his head to the side. “The loss of an officer is a weight on all our shoulders, especially one as talented as Ladell.”

Will isn’t sure whether it’s the tone of voice or the hard look in his eyes that makes the statement sound rehearsed and flat.

Lauren’s eyes flick to Kieran, her eyebrows furrowed. “I asked him to come with me, Will. He didn’t want to.”

“That is  _ because _ ,” Kieran turns to Lauren, “this is the worst idea you've  _ ever  _ had, and I’m sure you’re a connoisseur.” 

“Do you have any better ones?” She folds her arms. Will watches from his place near the door, sidelined in his own home. 

“Yes! We can leave now, pretend this never happened, and find Ladell on our  _ own _ , without complicating anything further. This is dangerous, Sinclair.”

“They’re working together, Kieran. The truth would come out, somehow.” Lauren rubs her temples. “I don’t like this either, but Kym is worth it, a thousand times over. If word gets out that Lune rescued her, suspicions would be through the roof. If Will is involved, there’s an extra layer of cover.”

“Lauren, what are you talking about?”

Lauren looks over at him, eyes shining. “I’ve been lying to you, Will. About something really important.”

“For heaven’s sake.” Kieran pinches the bridge of his nose. “There is no need to draw this out.” 

“You are Lune.”

Gold and turquoise eyes snap over to Will. He runs a hand through his hair. “So it’s true. I didn’t want to believe it, Lauren. I think Kym suspected, though. She was dead set on finding Lune before anyone else did.” He sighs. “Do you realize the position this puts us in?”

“I know it’s my fault that they took her, if that’s what you’re asking, Will.” Her eyes are dull, tired, and Will wonders whether he should agree with her, or if that would be what breaks her. “You can turn me in, and you should, I know. You have a place in this world and an image to uphold, and I won’t ask you to throw your morals away for a friendship. So… I won’t stop you when it’s time, but please wait until we’ve destroyed the Phantom Scythe.” She draws in a shuddering breath. “Or at least freed Kym.”

This… this was not something he had ever expected. His best friend, standing before him, begging him not to turn her in, because she was engaged in illegal activities… Will feels himself shaking, but he can’t pinpoint why. Fear, anger, betrayal, friendship, and duty all battle in his mind, but central to it all is Kym. Kym, who hands him watermelon at the weirdest times, who stands places she shouldn’t be standing, who yells in the office. Kym, who thinks that he has never been restrained around her. Kym, who he has been chasing around the precinct since day one. 

“Screw it. Screw my place and screw my  _ image _ . You’re my friend and they took Ladell.” His hands tighten into fists. “Your secret is safe with me.” 

Tears well up in Lauren’s eyes. “Thank you, Will.” 

He shakes his head. “Don’t. This is still… a lot. When Ladell is safe, we need to talk.” His eyes flick over to Kieran. “And you. If she’s the precinct mole, that means that you are…” 

“The Phantom Scythe traitor, yes.” His gaze is even, calculating.

“Right.” Will laughs, but there is no humor in it. “This is where I cross the final line. I can’t turn you in without betraying Lauren.”

“Have I done anything to warrant a lack of trust?” 

Will doesn’t miss the way Lauren flinches at Kieran’s words. He narrows his eyes. “Did you mean  _ aside _ from being a member of the most destructive domestic terrorist group in Ardhalian history? Hardly.” 

Kieran leans forward. “I’m as pleased with this situation as you are, Hawkes. Nevertheless, I made an oath. I swore to Lauren that no one in the precinct, nor any of her friends or family would be harmed. I will not kill any of them—of you—even if I’m ordered to. Do you understand?”

Will lifts his chin. “I do.”

“Good. Then understand this,” Kieran’s eyes glint. “I don’t make this promise lightly. My superiors are much less pleasant than yours when disappointed. But I have already betrayed them, and I have not betrayed you, so I hope you trust me enough to return the favor.”

“I want to know why you’re going along with Lauren on this. What do you have to offer?”

Kieran starts to answer, but Lauren pushes in front of him. “Will, Kieran isn’t a low-level grunt in the PS ranks. He’s the Purple Hyacinth.” 

·················•·················•

Lauren should have stayed in the Investigation Unit. Lauren should have stayed in the IU, because, Kym thinks as pointedly as she can through the dark haze of agony, she would have already been found and released by now. Possibly already sent to the hospital. Kym isn’t a fan of hospitals, but she would be willing to make an exception, considering the nauseating pain that tumbles over her.

Every breath sends a shock through her torso and the way she flinches tugs at her wrists and compounds it. She tries to shallow out her breathing, but that only serves to usher in the return of her lightheadedness. 

_ Please, please, please— _ she cuts off her own thoughts. If anyone here were to listen to her, what would she even ask for? Begging would do no good. She can’t even struggle properly and  _ heavens _ she is exhausted. Memories of the serum she had been injected with flow into her mind, carrying with them ghosts of the pain. Against her will, she whimpers. 

She remembers being cut free and falling to the floor, writhing and screaming—farewell to her pride—as she lost control of her body and her mind and sank into a world where only pain existed. She still hurts from whatever the man had given her, on top of the obvious wounds she had already had. Her wounds ache and her skin stings and pulses with every heartbeat. 

Kym wonders when she had been tied up again—why she had been. She is hardly in any fighting condition, that much is clear. Between her broken foot, which she can feel swelling inside of her boot, her wrists sting and shoot pain through her arms when she tries to flex them. Both are likely sprained from her fall. Judging by how hard each breath is to take, she wouldn’t be surprised if her ribs had cracked from the punches thrown at her earlier.

And then there’s the blood. Kym can’t tell exactly how many cuts she has—the overwhelming pain making it difficult to distinguish one tear from another—but she knows that the burly man had been liberal with his carving. Another wave of nausea rolls over her as she wonders how many scars she will have after this. Provided she lives, of course. 

She leans as far over the side of the chair as her bonds allow, and vomits. The contents splatter back up at her legs, and she cringes away. The stench only makes the ill feeling worse and she heaves nothing but air over her knees. The vomit had come out with the foul taste of chemicals, which she hazily determines must have been from whatever they used to drug her earlier. 

Tears of frustration well in her eyes. She hates,  _ hates,  _ not being able to fight, being confined to victimhood, being broken. She cries out and rocks the chair back back and forth, desperate to loosen the ropes, or break a leg off the chair, or do anything that will feel like progress. All she succeeds in doing is aggravating every wound on her body, until they chorus in agony and she has no choice but to slump in her seat, trembling and burning. 

A slow clap sounds from behind her and she flinches. She was hoping he would stay away from her, at least long enough for her to come up with some sort of plan. But she is his prisoner, and she has succeeded in exhausting herself before another round of torture. 

He rounds the chair and squeezes her chin in his hand. “I have something else I want to try on you, love. I think you’ll like it more than our last game.”

A heavier pair of footsteps enters the room and Kym stiffens, praying that whatever  _ games _ the man has planned do not involve both of them at the same time. 

_ “Meyers.” _ The burly man speaks, meaning that the creep still touching her must be Meyers.  _ “Have you even been doing your job? Has she said anything about  _ Lune _?” _

“Ah.” Meyers drops his hand. “That.”

_ “What do you mean by ‘that,’ Meyers. That is our one job—to find out more about Lune. What have you been doing this whole time?” _

“I admit,” Meyers says, a sickly smug look crossing his features, “I was a bit caught up in all the fun.” 

The other man cusses.  _ “This is not the sort of job I like to take, Meyers. You know that perfectly well. And you’re telling me that you’ve been playing games with her this whole time? What are you doing? It’s our heads if we fail.” _

Meyers strolls across the room to his case of supplies, filling an empty syringe with what Kym assumes is more of the pain serum. She is too tired to fight back and resigns herself to the imminent torment. But he doesn’t approach her, instead tucking the needle to his side and facing his partner.

“You know, Bateau, your attitude to this whole endeavor is quite off-putting. Right in front of us sits a  _ beautiful _ opportunity to test out all of my creations, and you want to… what? Extract information and let her go? Come now, where’s your sense of adventure?”

_ “Meyers, I swear—” _

Before he can finish the sentence, Meyers lunges at him, digging the syringe into his arm and squeezing until nothing is left. Bateau blinks at Meyers, confusion apparent in his expression.  _ “What… what did you just do?” _

Meyers backs away, leaving the syringe hanging out of Bateau’s arm. He observes eagerly as Bateau tugs the thing out and drops it to the floor. “Watch, my dear,” he calls to Kym, “this is the best part.”

Bateau crumples to the ground, howling as he writhes and tosses around. 

“Oh, how  _ interesting _ .” Meyers sounds giddy. “He started crying out much earlier than you did. I wonder if he has a lower pain tolerance. It wouldn’t surprise me with his size.” He turns to face Kym. “You get it, don’t you, dear? Someone his size is probably used to being on the aggressive side of every fight. It’s easy to forget pain.”

Kym presses as far back into the chair as she can, which doesn’t put much extra distance between her and Meyers, seeing as she is already tied against it. He only laughs at her attempts.

“I certainly am glad he’s out of the picture.” Meyers raises his voice to be heard above Bateau’s mounting cries. “I think that will make our next game more interesting.”

He returns to his case and fills yet another syringe. Kym is almost numb to the sight. But, as he approaches her, and an unwelcome shot of fear pierces her, she realizes that ‘almost numb’ and ‘unaffected’ are very different. 

“This is different from the last shot I gave you. I hope you like it more.”

“Screw you, you overgrown birth-control failure,” Kym gasps out. “Lune isn’t alone. They’re not alone and we’ll destroy you together.”

“Oh, how funny that you should start talking about Lune now that Bateau is out of the picture. Maybe you just like me more, is that it?” He shakes his head. “What could anyone as powerful as Lune possibly want with you, dear?”

“If I know Lune half as well as I think I do, they’ll be here for me any minute. And so—” she winces as he pinches her arm, wiping it down with an alcohol-soaked cloth. “So will Soleil.”

Meyers laughs his horrible, high laugh and his grey eyes smother Kym. “Soleil! How cute. Tell me, little sunshine, why haven’t they come already? Why have they left you here with me? Maybe they gave up on looking. Maybe they know you’re here, but can’t be bothered. Maybe… maybe they never started looking at all.” Another needle is jabbed into her skin and Kym steels herself for whatever is coming next. “Maybe you stared into the sun for too long, Soleil. Maybe you’re going blind.”

_ Going blind. Going blind? _ Was his poison going to attack her eyes? Kym whimpers, shaking her head and blinking desperately, trying to make sure she can still see. But no—her vision is clouding up, everything is going dark—too dark, she can’t, she can’t—. Meyers smacks her in the back of the head, where she had hit it earlier, and her neck snaps up straight. “Stop panicking, girl. I can’t assess if this is working when you thrash like that. You were being so good for me.”

_ Oh.  _ It was only dull panic and tears fogging up her vision. She isn’t blind. And yet… It has been more than a minute since he had injected her and no waves of pain are drowning her. In fact, she feels good. She feels… numb. All through her body, from her neck down, she can’t feel anything. She tenses. Or, rather, tries to, but she has no control over her movement. 

“Is it working?” Meyers flicks her arm. “Feels nice doesn’t it, love? It’s a numbing agent I’ve been working on. It functions similarly to the serum, except that instead of prompting constant stimulation of the neurons that register pain, it blocks them, as well as all sensory nerves. It can’t counteract the serum, but they balance each other in function. It’s beautiful.” 

She glares up at him although, admittedly, she doesn’t understand how a numbing agent is meant to be torturous. If anything, it’s a welcome reprieve. 

“I want to sell it to hospitals, you see, to establish my name as a quality business man, but I need to test it on  _ someone _ , and you can see how volunteers may not have been forthcoming.” He crouches down beside her. “Can you feel that?” 

She says nothing. 

He hums, “Perhaps not.” She hears a snap. “What about that? Did you feel that?”

“What are you doing?” Her voice is barely a whisper and she hates herself for sounding as weak as she feels. 

“So it is working!” 

She hears two more snaps, and a feeling of dread wells up in her throat, nearly gagging her. “ _ I said, ‘What are you doing?’”  _ She screams as loud as she can, and feels a sharp glint of satisfaction when she hears him scoot away. The feeling of success is quickly drowned out by another two snaps in quick succession. 

Meyers stands and steps in front of her, brushing his hands off against his coat. “Breaking your fingers, Miss Ladell, all of them on your right hand.” He leans down, until he is only inches away from her and she can smell his breath through the mask he wears. “You are right-handed, yes? I’d hate to have to do the other side as well.”

“No. No, you can’t have. You can’t have, I would have felt something. I should be feeling something! What are you doing to me? Let me feel something— Fix this! Fix this, fix me!” Meyers pulls a knife from his belt and Kym’s eyes widen. “No, no, no, no, don’t touch me. Don’t come near me with that, not when I can’t feel what you’re doing! Stop!”

“Oh, but, love, didn’t you want to feel something? Let’s find out if you can.”

“Stop, stop, please. I’ll… I’ll tell you about Lune. I’ll tell you everything I know!”

“Ah, Miss Ladell, that is too little, too late. I couldn’t really care less about Lune. I’m simply enjoying having your body here. You’re doing  _ so much _ for science, love. Besides,” he sets the knife against her skin. “I told you earlier, I can’t trust a word that comes out of your mouth.”

With that, he presses the knife in and begins to carve. Kym can’t scream—can’t even feel it—so she sits in silence, biting back tears of fear, and lets him cut her open.

·················•·················•

It takes Will a moment to process exactly what he’s being told, but he looks at Lauren and he looks at Kieran, and he knows in his bones that they aren’t lying. He doesn’t want to believe it. His best friend even associating with a Phantom Scythe member—traitor or not—is hard to swallow. But Kieran White, the archivist, being the Purple Hyacinth? It borders on laughable. Then another thought strikes Will, and nothing seems quite as funny.

“Lauren, did you—”

“No. She didn’t.” Kieran answers. “Every Lune-related death is blood on my hands, not hers.”

Will looks to Lauren for confirmation. She is staring at him already with her—curse it—pensive eyes. He knows she hates the term, but that’s all there is to it. He knows her well enough to know what thoughts she hides, and exactly what she worries about. He puts a hand on her shoulder. “I don’t hate you, Lauren. I… I wanted to see Lune uncovered, and I still do, but I’ll worry less, knowing that you’re in the lead. The work you’re doing is incredible and… you’re  _ good _ . You are a good person and, so long as you don’t let go of that,” he shrugs and, even though the mere thought stresses him out, says. “Well, I’m afraid I’ll have to keep disappointing Hermann.”

Lauren smiles, relief and gratitude evident on her features. 

Will turns back to Kieran. “You…”

Kieran waves his hands in a placating gesture. “I am on thin ice. You will shoot me if I put a toe out of line. She will shoot me if I put a toe out of line. My devilish good looks do not make up for my dark past. If I betray you, et cetera. Am I correct?”

Will’s only response is a dark glare, which Kieran returns with a grin. The two stand that way for a moment, sizing each other up, before Lauren snorts. Both men turn to look at her.

“If Kym were here, she would be making horrible jokes about the two of you.” 

“Ladell is—” William cuts himself off. “I wish she were here.”

“Then what are you waiting for?” Will does  _ not _ like the way Kieran seems to stare right through him. “Let’s get your Sergeant back.”

“I—she’s not  _ my _ Sergeant.” 

“Oh, my apologies, I was under the impression that, as her superior officer—”

Will’s face burns. “Just stop.” He looks at Lauren, unable to take Kieran’s smirk for another second. “Let me go change and we can leave.” 

Lauren nods, and Will leaves the two alone. He takes the stairs up to his room two at a time, trying to push down his worry over Kym. Surely, she is fine. Captured she may be, but he has no doubt that she is proving herself a nuisance to her captors. A small feeling of pride wells up inside of him. She would never give up without a fight and, knowing her, she has probably already subdued whoever took her and is raiding their ice-box for food. He laughs to himself.

_ That’s his Sergeant.  _ Not—not  _ his _ Sergeant. He smacks his face against his closet door, reaching around blindly to find the least conspicuous suit he owns. Blending, he assumes, is an important part of this outing. He changes quickly and, tucking his gun into his small-of-back holster, rejoins the other two downstairs. 

Lauren smiles at him reassuringly as he approaches. “We have some information that we managed to get from the detectives before we left. There was a roadblock earlier, on her usual route home, so she would have taken another way. She left just after noon and,” Lauren checks the clock on the hearth, “It’s nearly six. We don’t know how long they had her, just that she called her family to let them know she would return early, then never showed up. Somewhere between the APD and her house, she was taken.”

Kieran spreads a map on the back of the sofa. “There are several alternate routes she may have taken. We’ll start here—” he points at the area surrounding the APD, “and ask around to see if anyone saw her.”

Will bites the inside of his cheek, considering the map. A thought occurs to him and he leans back. “Why aren’t we just asking your people?” 

Kieran shakes his head. “It’s too suspicious. Why would I want to save an APD officer? It will only put a bigger, more dangerous target on her back. If you care about her at  _ all _ , that’s not an option. Besides, this wasn’t us. The Phantom Scythe doesn’t need to kidnap an officer to find out who Lune is—that’s my job.”

“Wait.” Will holds his hands up. “You’re part of Lune, and trying to uncover Lune?” 

“It’s not easy.” Kieran sighs dramatically. “Anyway, this is likely the work of a frightened aristocrat. Someone with condemning ties to the PS, but no trust or loyalty.” His eyes flick to Lauren’s. “Possibly someone from the Camelia?” 

Lauren’s eyes widen. “The dark-haired woman?” 

Kieran shrugs. “It’s a possibility, but there’s no way to know.” He turns back to the map. “We have a place to start. We should head out. The more we get done before dark, the better.” 

·················•·················•

Kym tries to move the toes of her unbroken foot. To her relief, she feels them flex slightly, but the relief is soon drowned out by the slow creep of pain up her calf and thigh. Meyers had not held back with the knife, making sure that  _ all _ of her extremities were numbed by the injection. Kym can barely make out the white of her shirt under all the red seeping through. 

That is her blood. That’s her blood, and she can’t feel where it’s coming from. All she knows is what she can see, and that there is enough blood that she can smell nothing else. Meyers had left the room after slicing at her enough to be convinced of his invention’s quality, leaving her in silence except for Bateaus unconscious form. He had stopped twitching and whimpering partway through Meyers’ fun, and Kym is grateful, at least, not to be watching that spectacle. 

It was agony enough to be awake while he worked. Even if she felt nothing, she could hear her flesh tearing, accompanied by the ripping of her clothes. She could see her blood coating Meyers’ knife as he contemplated where to test next. 

He hadn’t seemed interested in killing her—he ensured that she would not lose too much blood, and he admitted that she would be useless to him dead—but the prospect of being treated like an experiment or like a  _ toy _ … Kym grits her teeth and pulls against the ropes. If no one is coming for her, she needs to escape. She needs to break out of these ropes, to strangle Meyers with her bare hands, or even inject him with some of his own serum. 

Anger burns under her skin, fueled by fear and desperation, and she gives one last pull against her bonds.  _ Ah. _

Her hands are on fire. That’s the only explanation. Her hands are on fire, and the fire is spreading up her arms and over her shoulders like a sadistic caress, burning over her face and down into her lungs. The numbing agent, it appears, had worn off. 

She feels… she feels like her skin is peeling off, like her ribs have been torn out of her chest, like something is eating her from the inside out, devouring everything and leaving only pure pain in its wake. She gags through her breaths, trying not to move, but unable to keep still. One breath turns into a cough and the way it wracks her shoulders is pure agony. Had that man cut  _ under _ her ropes? 

Through all the pain, she can feel the slow roll of blood tracing its way down her arms and legs, down her neck, dripping from her fingers.  _ Her fingers _ . The second she thinks of them, she can’t help a reflexive twitch and the flood of pain that follows it drives her mind away for a moment. 

When Kym’s vision fades back in, she tastes salt and iron. She hears the scrape of movement and stiffens. Meyers can’t be back so soon, surely? She isn’t sure—no, she knows that she can’t hold up under another round of the pain serum. Next time she blacks out, she promises herself emptily, she will stay that way for as long as she needs to avoid him. 

Bateau’s crumpled form begins to move, and Kym realizes with relief that the noises are coming from him. He gets his hands under him and pushes up onto his knees, coughing and groaning. He crouches, looking over at Kym, seemingly surprised that she is still there. Then the expression drops. 

_ “I don’t suppose anything you say to him would convince him to let you go now.” _

Kym watches him silently. 

_ “I hate taking jobs like this. It would have been an easy extraction on my own, and you would have been off at a hospital by now.” _ He pauses.  _ “I’m sorry.” _

“You’re sorry. You’re  _ sorry _ ? I—I can’t—” Kym’s breaths come faster and she can’t slow them. She can’t get a full breath, it is so shallow, so shallow, but she can’t stop, and things are getting hazy, and—

_ “Hey.” _ Bateau raps a fist against her forehead.  _ “Knock it off.” _

“What is  _ wrong with you _ ?” Kym rages.

He raises an eyebrow.  _ “I’m a professional, unlike that nutjob. Torture is a specific and intentional thing, and the recipient has to be treated a certain way for the extraction to go properly.” _ He shakes his head.  _ “Fool ruined everything.” _ She shrinks away from the look he sends her.  _ “I’m leaving.” _

“Good. Good! Untie me! I can walk, I can figure it out—” She ignores the fact that she can’t even breathe without her vision dancing, let alone put weight on her broken foot.

_ “No.” _

She stares at him, and a drop of blood rolls from her fingertip. She hears it hit the ground. “What?”

_ “I told you, Ladell, I’m a professional. I have an image to uphold and a family to support. I’ll go to the client and tell her that Meyers is mad. She’ll send someone to extract you.”  _

“Or she’ll agree with him! She’ll decide that I’m useless and let him kill me, or—or keep experimenting on me. Please! Please don’t leave me here, I’m begging you.”

_ “Begging doesn’t work on me, Sergeant. Besides, the both of us can’t escape. I’m barely standing and you’re barely alive.” _

He turns and stumbles toward the warehouse door, swaying and shaking as he very intentionally places one foot in front of another, trying to maintain his balance. 

“Don’t.” Kym’s voice is barely a whisper. She swallows and tries again, even though it hurts. She screams, even though every word feels like it’s shredding her throat. “ _ Don’t leave me here. Come back, please! Please don’t leave me! Don’t leave me with him; I don’t know what he’ll do to me! I don’t know how much more I… _ ” She trails off. He is gone. Her voice falls to near silence as she admits the truth aloud. “I don’t know how much more I can take.”

Tears pour out of her eyes and drip from her chin in sickening shades of pink, mingling with blood on their way. Her tears give way to sobs, and she shakes and trembles in the middle of the empty warehouse, whispering pleas to the cold air. 

·················•·················•

“Where should we start?” Kieran surveys the surroundings. “You know her better than I do, so you two take the lead.” 

Will glances at Lauren. “Watermelon stand?”

“Without a doubt.”

Will leads the group down the street, taking a left at the corner and heading down a short ways before slowing to a stop in front of a grocer’s. Outside of the storefront is a quaint summertime stand with a banner that reads  _ Monroe’s Magnificent Melons _ . Smiling at the trio from behind the counter is a heavily-mustachioed man, holding a large knife and half a melon.

“Hello folks! I’m Monroe! Are you here for some watermelon?” 

Lauren smiles disarmingly. “Actually, sir, we’re looking for our friend. She’s short, has black hair—” 

Monroe interrupted, “You mean the Indestructible Kym Ladell?”

Will and Lauren exchange looks and nod blankly at the man.

“Ladell is my favorite customer! She came by earlier for some watermelon, sayin’ she got off of work early.” He leans over the counter. “I’ll let you in on my secret: that girl provides near half my income.” Monroe guffaws and waves his knife at them. “Aw, she’s not that bad. I told her about the closure over on the west lane. Think I saw her head off to the right down that way?” For the first time, he seems to read the mood and his moustache droops. “Why? Is she alright?”

Will nods. “Thank you, sir.” 

Lauren puts some money down on the edge of his stand, out of the growing puddle of watermelon juice. “We’ll bring her by when we find her.” 

Kieran only stalks off in the indicated direction, the other two jogging to catch up. 

“Is anyone going to mention how weird that was?” Lauren and Will look over at Kieran, who seems utterly bemused and more than a little disturbed. 

Lauren considers his words, but shakes her head. “That’s just Kym.”

“Everyone loves her. She hates seeing people sad and does whatever she can to help them. You won’t find many people who have bad things to say about her.” Will carefully avoids looking at Lauren or Kieran as he speaks, instead studying the pavement, the surrounding buildings, and the road ahead. Guilt is still gnawing away at him, leaving him feeling like a shell of anxiety with no foundation, ready to collapse at any moment. 

It’s Kieran who doesn’t know better than to push him farther. “You care about her a lot?”

Will scowls at the ground. “She’s my Sergeant. It’s her blood on my hands and her weight on my conscience if she’s hurt. I keep telling myself that she was only taken for ransom, or that she’s already escaped whoever took her, but… she’s a terrible ransom target and if  _ anyone _ found out that she was tasked with uncovering Lune… she’s in a lot of danger.” 

“Especially if she came this way.” Kieran nods at the streets ahead of them, not seeming terribly concerned about Will’s emotional state. 

Before them sits the industrial district. It is not as decrepit or ghostly as the Greychapel district, but it has its own brand of run-down weariness. Factories huff out smoke and hum with the sound of machinery working, all coated in a fine layer of dust. A few people mill about, smoking under balconies or shouting at others across the street. Most keep their heads down and their hands in their pockets.

“This is where you bring someone when you don’t want anyone to hear suspicious noises. It’s easy to dispose of bodies and to frame factory workers. If this is the detour she took, I suggest we find her quickly.” 

Will watches the way Lauren’s eyes, clouded with worry for her friend, dart over Kieran’s face as he speaks. The question of exactly  _ why _ Ardhalis’ most feared assassin was helping them flickers through his mind, but it isn’t the time for that and he pushes it away. Somewhere ahead of them, yelling breaks out and a figure sprints down an alley. The three share a glance and take off after the person. 

Whoever it is is fast and they chase him down several rows of buildings, but a knife hurtling past someone’s ear is enough to shock them into stopping, and Kieran throws one the moment a path is clear. The large figure skids to a halt, giving the trio enough time to surround him. There’s dried blood on his hands and coat, and he’s wearing a black mask over the bottom half of his face. He barely spares Will and Lauren a glance, but when his eyes fall on Kieran, he stiffens. 

_ “Why are you here?” _

Kieran tilts his head and reaches out, pulling the man’s mask down. “Oh, Bateau. It’s not a pleasure to see you.” He pulls out another knife. “On the other hand, you can probably help me. I’m looking for an annoying young woman, about yea tall, of questionable sanity.”

Bateau shakes his head.  _ “I can’t tell you anything, Hyacinth, you know that.” _

In an instant, the knife is brushing his neck. “I would prefer you didn’t call me that in polite company. You never know who might hear.” Kieran presses the blade’s tip against the man’s flesh. “I am particularly interested in how easily everyone recognizes who we’re referring to. Kym Ladell, where is she?”

_ “I won’t divulge particulars, White.” _ For someone a twitch away from death, Bateau remains remarkably noncompliant. His attitude flickers as two clicks echo in the alley and he has a gun pointed at his head from both sides. Finally, he spares a moment to look at Will and Lauren, who stare him down with matching looks of disgust and hatred.

“Where is she?” It is a question, but the way it comes out of Will’s mouth is purely threatening. He’s shaking, and this time he can pinpoint the anger welling up inside of him, smothering every instinct and guideline that tells him it is  _ wrong _ to threaten someone at gunpoint. “Tell me right now, you  _ bastard _ .” 

Bateau huffs, his shoulders shaking, and Will’s anger turns to blinding rage as he begins to laugh.  _ “It’s you. You’re the one she kept muttering about! ‘He’ll come for me. They’ll find me. I won’t die here.’ She was delirious, but look at you. You actually showed up. She might hate you at this point, it’s hard to say—” _

Kieran’s fist rockets into Bateau’s stomach. “He asked you a question.”

_ “Ah, what the hell?”  _ Bateau gasps.  _ “She’ll kill me anyway; I’d rather have a chance to run.”  _ He jerks his head to the side.  _ “Your girl is in storage unit four, boy.” _

Will lurches away, but Lauren’s voice makes him pause. “Who is ‘she?’ Who hired you?”

_ “Weren’t you listening? I said I want a fighting chance.” _

Lauren looks ready to throw punches of her own, but Will calls over, “Lauren, there’s no  _ time. _ ”

Lauren sends the man one last glare, then follows Will back through the units. In the background, Will registers Kieran’s voice telling the man to leave, to stay silent about what happened, never to speak of it again if he wished his family to be safe. Will couldn’t even bring himself to feel doubt about Kieran’s methods. 

He approached storage unit four, his years of training dictating every move. He could hear Lauren watching his back, and Kieran somewhere to the side, hopefully keeping bystanders away, in case this got ugly. He stops in front of the structure marked with a large ‘4,’ takes a deep breath, and throws the door wide. 

It’s dark inside, but he can make out two figures in the dim light still coming in from outside. One is tall and masked, standing behind a petite woman who sits, tied to the chair she’s on. For a moment, Will doesn’t believe it’s really Kym, because her skin tone isn’t nearly that dark, but then he realizes she’s slick with blood. It coats her face and her arms beneath the shredded remains of her shirt. Behind him, Lauren gasps. 

Kym’s head lolls up and she fixes her eyes on him, but there’s no recognition in them.

“Well, hello! You must be Soleil and Lune. You’re here just—”

The man’s words are cut off by a bullet shattering his skull. Pieces of blood, gore, and bone splatter on Kym and she moans as it drips off the side of her face. Before Will can process what he’s done—he just killed a man, but it hardly matters, nothing matters,  _ nothing matters but her _ —Kieran flies into the room past him, crouching by the corpse’s side. He pries something out of the man’s limp hand and holds it up to the small source of light. 

Will ignores him, running to Kym’s side. 

“Can you hear me? Ladell, can you hear me?” She seems numb to him, just shaking and staring blankly at the ground as tears roll down her face. Will goes to work on the ropes binding her to the chair. Her wrists are swollen and red, and he wonders if they are injured beside the chafing. 

Kieran curses, drawing Will’s attention. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she can’t respond to you with the level of pain she must be in.” He stands and looks around the room, settling his focus on a case near the wall. He runs over to it, rifling through the contents. Will turns away, focusing on Kym, trying to figure out how poor of a condition she’s in. He touches her arm, intending to help her stand, and that’s when he feels the split skin. He looks closer and nearly gags. 

She’s covered in cuts, some shallow and long, some deep and short, but all oozing blood. He pushes her hair back from her face and looks into her eyes, trying to see if she has a concussion, but it’s  _ too dark _ and he can feel her skin splitting under his hands and he’s  _ hurting her. _

She jerks out from under him and collapses onto the floor, crying out when she hits it. She didn’t put her hands out to catch her and Will doesn't know if it’s because she can’t control her own movements, or if there is another injury that would cause her worse pain. 

“Ladell, please.” He touches her shoulder as gently as he can and she screams, clawing at the ground with her left hand, pulling herself away from him. She lifts her trembling right hand up, the fingers all bent at unnatural angles, opens her mouth, and begs him to kill her. 

·················•·················•

Everything is blurry. Everything is pain. Everything, Kym reflects, is really freaking awful. She’s been told, as part of training, about torture. She knows about the places that people retreat to in their own minds, when the pain is just too great to bear. She tries to dismiss her mind, to send it somewhere far off where pain doesn’t exist and all she feels is sunlight and air, but it only halfway works. 

It’s the wrong half.

She’s broken away from the noise and the sight, pulled away from the taste of blood, but the unbearable agony dancing under her skin  _ will not leave _ and becomes so much worse when Meyers starts prodding at her wounds. She thinks he’s yelling at her too, but she’s not sure why he would be. It’s not like he wanted anything from her that she couldn’t provide by simply existing.

She feels herself jerk forward, her hands falling to her sides, and realizes that he’s cut her ropes. Echoing, faint sounds bombard her from all sides— _ a lethal amount—know the antidote—trust me—don’t care— _ and she wonders why Meyers brought more people in, when what he wanted was to experiment. Ah! Ah, maybe these are the people who wanted a demonstration. As if she would comply with that.

But even as blurry plans of defiance crawl into her mind, they rattle around and crumble, destroyed by delirium, nausea, and disorientation. Meyers touches her face and his touch is  _ soft _ and  _ gentle _ and she nearly gags, throwing herself away from him—curse the pain that comes.

And it does come. She rams shoulder-first into the ground and nothing could stop her scream. Maybe death would be better. Maybe death would be better than the pain that’s gripping her, better than dragging herself across the ground to get away from Meyers, better than listening to him call her  _ Ladell _ and when he begs her to stop,  _ please _ , she does. 

She dredges up the words she needs, digging through the static in her mind, and shoves them out of her mouth. “Just kill me.” There’s no response, but of course he wouldn’t be merciful about this. “Just  _ kill _ me, Meyers.  _ Just kill me.  _ No one is coming for me, and there’s nothing left you can  _ do _ to me, so just kill me.” She gasps in air, coughing when blood comes along with it, and tries again. “I don’t care how you do it, just kill me. I can’t take any more of this. I want to die.”

“No.” 

It’s the first properly clear word she’s heard. Something about the tone is so familiar, and so unlike Meyers, that she pauses. 

“I will not kill you, Ladell. I know you don’t care what I have to say, but I will not tolerate that kind of talk from my Sergeant.”

_ Sergeant. My Sergeant. _ Whose Sergeant?  _ Oh. _

Now she knows she’s finally broken into that safe corner of her mind, because if she’s someone’s Sergeant, Will is here. And Will can’t be here because… well, he can’t be. He wouldn’t have—she can’t think of a reason. 

And she feels arms around her, gentle, hardly even touching her, but there. And she hears his voice again and wonders how she thought it was Meyers, because it’s clearly Will and his stupid self-sacrificing blame as he swears to her that he’ll never let her get hurt again. And finally,  _ finally _ , Kym feels something besides pain, because it always feels like sunshine when he’s around and, even through the pain, the knowledge that she is no longer  _ alone _ feels like a burst of merciful clarity. 

And then someone is pressing something to her lips and ordering her to drink it  _ before the nerve damage is permanent _ , and Will is whispering that it’s okay, so she does. Through her hazy vision, she thinks she sees Lauren. 

That’s good. Lauren is her friend. Lauren doesn’t hurt her, just like Will doesn’t hurt her, and they came for her.

Whatever they told her to swallow must be a gift straight from heaven because the burning pain of the serum dulls slowly to a faded ache, until she can breathe again and nearly see properly, and finally think a proper, coherent thought.

Kym’s proper, coherent thought is that she was right. She  _ is _ right. Will is holding her, and Lauren is standing right behind him, tears in her eyes, and someone brought the hot archivist along, which isn’t the worst visual to come out of a torture-induced-pain-blindness to, but nothing—possibly nothing in all the world—is as good or as right as the arms around her, and the shoulder on which she’s resting her head, and the voice ordering Lauren and Kieran to leave. 

Will tells them to go, because they’ll draw suspicion; to run, and let him take the fall for it; to get out, and make an anonymous call to the precinct. He’ll tell the police whatever it takes, he says, shoulder all the blame, but they need to go. She feels Lauren squeeze her hand—the one that doesn’t resemble pebbles in a glove, hears footsteps running, and is alone with Will. 

He pulls a crumpled handkerchief out of his pocket and carefully picks bloody clumps of  _ something  _ out of her hair. Only then do her eyes drift to the side and land upon Meyers. Or, rather, what’s left of Meyers. 

She hisses in a breath and Will immediately draws back. “Am I hurting you?”

She can’t pull her eyes away and Will follows her gaze to the corpse. “Will… what happened?”

He only grimaced. 

“Will. What happened?”

She looks up at him and his eyes burn into hers. “I killed him. I shot him in the head.” 

“What?”

“I won’t apologize and I won’t ask for forgiveness. It means nothing if I would do it again.”

“Would you?” It’s barely a whisper.

“Yes. You’re my Sergeant. I’m your Lieutenant and it’s my duty.” He stops. “But I would do it even if it were not. He hurt you, he—Yes. I would. Do you hate me?”

Kym takes a moment to process the question. Stupid questions take longer than usual, and her brain is fuzzy still on top of it all, but, “Of course I don’t. I could never hate you.” 

She tucks her chin back against his chest and, if she holds it just right, it doesn’t hurt. She can hear his heartbeat as well, and the steady rhythm centers her. Whatever was in the antidote has cut the pain significantly, and whatever it is in Will has soothed her panic. 

She’s grateful, actually, to still feel dull throbbing and occasional stings, because she’s not sure she could handle an empty numbness like the one when Meyers broke her fingers. The thought drives her to pull her mangled hand to her chest, and she feels Will’s sharp intake of breath more than hears it.

“Nice, huh? Do you think I’ll ever be able to fire a gun again?” 

Her attitude doesn’t phase him and he tucks his chin into her hair, holding her closer than he has any right to as her superior officer, and she wants to tell him that’s  _ disgusting _ and that her hair is full of  _ blood _ and  _ stuff _ , but he’s already talking.

“Of course you will. Of course you will, Ladell. And you’ll still be the best shot in the precinct.”

“Lieutenant, lieutenant, I think the world is ending. Did you just admit I’m good at something?”

He laughs and she can feel his breath on her face and hear sirens in the distance, and she thinks that things might finally be okay. 

“Don’t leave me, please.”

“I won’t, Ladell.”

He holds her in silence until the door bursts open and medics pour inside, shining lights at her and poking at her. It starts to feel too much like the overwhelming pressure of the pain, but they won’t listen when she whispers for them to back away—maybe because they can’t hear her, or maybe no sound is coming out at all. 

It’s Will who finally tells them to step back, to let him put her on the stretcher and ride with her to the hospital. She hears him sharply inform some other officer that he’ll give his statement after she’s in a stable condition, but that he’s her superior officer and he will not be leaving her side until then. 

Feeling almost on the way to becoming alright, and with Will’s hand covering her unbroken one at all times—distracting her, she knows—she lets the medics slip an IV into her arm and medicate her, and she tries not to think of how similar it is to what she just suffered, and then she sleeps.

·················•·················•

Will watches as people flutter around Kym, wiping her skin with alcohol, prying up her eyelids and examining her pupils, and stabilizing her broken bones before they get worse. When her clothes are peeled away to check the skin underneath, he wonders if it’s ethical to keep looking, but decides he really couldn’t care less. He wants to know how badly she’s injured, so he looks. What he sees nearly makes him sick.

Bruises spread up her sides, decorated all around with lacerations. Bits of thread stick out from some of the cuts, stained red with her blood. There are red marks from where her torso was fastened to the chair, rubbed raw. One cut must have been part way under the ropes, because it’s torn open. He looks away.

Will feels something like shame creep up inside. How can he sit and hold her hand—try to comfort her—as though it’s not his fault she’s here? He should have done something. What, he isn’t sure, but he’s certain there’s an answer. Still, he can’t bring himself to let go of her hand, because that’s too much like leaving her, and he had promised that he wouldn’t.

That same promise rolls through his mind when the doctors demand that he stay outside. He refuses, and they ask him if he’s next of kin, a significant other, or somehow responsible for her. 

He pulls out his badge and thrusts it at their faces. “I’m Lieutenant William Hawkes. I’m her superior officer. I’m coming in.” 

They allow him back, but win the battle over the operating room, arguing that he would only make things more dangerous for her, were he inside. He watches through a window as they stitch, yank, and snap things back into place, coating her with ointments and bandages. He doesn’t know how long he stands there, but when they finally bring her out of the room and wheel her towards the recovery hall, he is by her side, holding her hand. 

“You’re the one who found her?” The doctor—Gandy, she was introduced—looks at Will, still covered in blood. 

He nods, “I was worried about her, so I…” He’s not sure how much of the truth to give. “I went after her.” 

Gandy raises her eyebrows, but doesn’t push the matter. “It’s a good thing you did, son, whatever your superiors may say. She’ll make a full recovery, but if you’d been any later in getting her here, well, it doesn’t matter, does it?” She smiles. “Sergeant Ladell is asleep, but may wake up soon. She’s on painkillers, so when she wakes up, she won’t be terribly lucid; don’t be too concerned if she says something strange. We’ll observe her for a while, then release her. Do you know if her family and friends are aware she was found?”

“They should have been informed not too long ago, ma’am. I suspect they’re on their way.” 

“Good. For now, stay with her. The nurse will be in to check on her regularly.”

Will nods, thanks her again, and crosses the small room to sit at Kym’s bedside. There are tubes and wires attached to her, and so many bandages covering her skin, and her right hand wrapped in splints and gauze, elevated above her heart, but she breathes deeply, and her face is not screwed up in pain like before. Doctor Gandy’s words echo in Will’s mind: she will be okay. She will recover. 

She will be able to do everything she loves. She will be able to shoot, and fold important papers into airplanes, and generally cause an absolute ruckus. Will isn’t sure he’ll have the discipline to stop her anymore. Kym Ladell is a vengeful goddess and his paperwork is a sacrifice, waiting for coffee spills. He honestly isn’t sure how he’ll be able to maintain any sort of professionality with her, when every time he looks at her, his heart lodges in his throat and he wants to swear to protect her for the rest of his life. 

Carefully, he takes her hand.  _ Because he promised _ . He can’t help but notice how comfortably it fits into his. He can’t help but wish she were awake, even though he has no idea what to say to her. He can’t help but wish he had been holding her under very, very different circumstances. 

He can’t help the way his heart skips a beat when her eyes flutter open and she smiles over at him. If it weren’t for all of the bandages, he would say it was as if nothing had happened. The light in her eyes isn’t dimmed in the slightest, though it is a bit foggy. 

“Tha’s goin’ be a real fun story to tell, Willame,” she slurs. “My knight in shiny armor. We can tell our kids all about it.”

Will chokes on his breath, certain his eyes have not stopped at bugging out of his head and have, in fact, vacated the premises entirely. She did  _ not just _ —

She nods, as if in agreement. “You’re right. Whole thing might be too scary. Just tell ‘em how cool and strong I was and how you came for me. Good story.” She squints at the ceiling. “Was some’ne else there? I thought…” 

Will clears his throat. “We can discuss that when you’re more lucid. Who was there, I mean, not…not children. We can discuss that never.” He hesitates. “Or sometime. But probably never. You need to recover. That is your priority, Sergeant.”

_ There. Professionality. _

She hums and closes her eyes. After half a minute, Will assumes she’s asleep, and tries to extract his hand from hers, but she grips it so tightly it nearly hurts. 

“Don’t. You promised.”

“I’m not leaving you, Ladell,” he reassures, but she doesn’t release him.

“Can’t be numb. The doctors made me numb and I need to feel something. Can’t… can’t be numb.”

“Okay. Okay, Ladell.” He nudges his hand closer to her, and she finally relaxes her grip.

“Thank you.” She relaxes back into the sheets. Her breathing softens and her hand, eventually, falls limp. 

Will stares down at it, so delicate compared to his own, and slowly, hesitantly, brushes his thumb against the backs of her fingers. He checks to see if she’s stirred, but she’s been pulled back under the effect of the drugs, so he continues the gentle ministrations. He’s not certain she can feel it, or that she recognizes it, but at the moment, his only goal is to comfort her however he can. 

She sleeps for hours. She sleeps through her family coming to visit—Will tells them that she awoke, but not what she said. She sleeps through Lauren visiting—Will  _ absolutely  _ does not tell her what Kym said—even as her friend, brushes the hair away from her face and whispers promises and inside jokes. Will doesn’t miss the way Lauren’s eyes flick to his hand around hers, but she doesn’t question it, and he is grateful. 

Before she leaves, Lauren reaches into her pocket and pulls out Kym’s pocket watch. She tucks it carefully under Kym’s side, where she will be sure to find it when she awakens. 

Kieran steps in for a few seconds, asks how Kym is, then leaves. Will understands. He’s not sure what to make of the man either, but he owes him. Kieran saved Kym from permanent nerve damage when he found the antidote, and no one will ever know. Will owes Kieran his silence, if not his life. The thought grates on him.

Lukas and Lila stop by, along with some others from the precinct. Lila is all nervous energy, promising to bring Kym her favorite baked goods, once she can stomach it, and to make sure her desk stays tidy (Will is dubious about the use of that word) while she’s gone. Lukas glowers down at Kym for a moment, before turning to Will. 

“Did you kill him?” He asks. Will nods, and swears in that moment that if one thing is more terrifying than Lukas Randall’s wrath, it’s his approval. “Good,” Lukas rasps, “I hope he rots.”

Kym sleeps through it all. Will stays through it all. 

He stays after visiting hours end, because when the nurse asks him to leave, he pulls out his badge. Before he can say a word, she rolls her eyes and leaves, closing the door behind her. Will stays, hours later, as the clock on the wall ticks away, and Kym’s chest rises and falls. Will stays, even as his eyelids begin to droop, and he regrets not getting coffee earlier. Will stays, eventually, because he falls asleep at Kym’s bedside, his head and elbow resting on the bed beside her, her hand in his.

·················•·················•

Kym wakes up to silence. She wakes up to a near-empty room. She wakes up to needles and tubes, but she wakes up safe, clean, and hurting so much less. She doesn’t mind a flop of blond hair being the first thing she sees when she wakes up. She doesn’t mind that Will is still holding her hand, or that he didn’t leave her. If not minding translates to a warmth in her cheeks and her heart skipping a beat, who needs to know but her? 

“Will.” She nudges his head with her knee. “Will. Willame. Lieutenant Hawkes.” 

He bolts upright, startling her. Her hand goes flying into his face, and it startles him in turn, making him jump back out of the chair. His heel catches on the leg and he careens to the floor, smacking into the counter on the way. Kym peers down at his form from her safe perch atop the hospital bed.

“Ahoy down there! Any injuries.”

Will sits up, groaning and rubbing his shoulder. “Ladell, you’re a force of nature. One day, I swear—” He looks up at her and freezes. 

Kym blinks at him, but he just keeps staring at her. She pats at her face with her good hand. “Don’t tell me that arse took any of my teeth.”

Will shakes his head and stands, brushing his clothes off and re-assuming his position on the chair. “You look fine—” Kym scoffs, “—and all your teeth are there.” 

“I look like hell, Will.” Her voice drops its playful tone. “I look like it, I feel like it, I keep having to tell myself that this is what’s real, not  _ that _ and not these stupid dreams the anesthesia is giving me. I know I was only there for a few hours, but…” she shudders. “I don’t know how long it will take for me to be right again.”

“Ladell, you’re not—I—I don’t know what to say to you.” He drags his hands down his face. “Except that I’ll be here for you, through all of it, in whatever capacity you need me. Or want me.” 

“Because you’re my Lieutenant and it’s your duty. I know the spiel, Will.”

“No! No. Because you’re my Sergeant, yes, but also because you’re  _ my _ Sergeant and my friend, and I shouldn’t have let that happen.” He looks up at her. “I can’t change that it did, but I’ll stay by your side, and I’ll make it up to you, Kym, I promise.”

She falls back against the pillows. “Okay. Alright. What I’m getting from this is that you’re an idiot. Possibly deaf, too. This wasn’t your fault, Will. You don’t have to fix everything. But… if you really want to, I have something you can do.”

“What?”

“Don’t call me Ladell. At least for a little while. I know… I know I can’t avoid it entirely, because it’s my name, but just…. For a while.”

Will nods, and doesn’t ask questions. 

“Oh! One other thing!” She grins at him. “No paperwork. For a year.”

“Absolutely not.” 

“I thought you said you’d do anything?”

“I meant anything  _ reasonable, _ Kym.” 

She deflates. “What’s a lady gotta do to catch a break?”

“Kym, you won’t be doing _ any _ work for a month, at least, and no patrols for longer. I think, if slacking is your goal, that ‘a lady is catching a break.’”

The conversation trails off, Kym staring up at the ceiling, trying to map out the next few months in her mind. She knows, dimly, that the drugs they have her on are making things seem much nicer than the will soon, but for now she is grateful for the relief. 

She feels Will slip his hand under her own, and she doesn’t complain, only weaves her fingers together with his. They sit like that for a while, sunlight pouring over them through the open window and filling the room with a golden glow. 

Kym squeezes Will’s hand a couple of times to get his attention. “I have one more question.”

He tilts his head at her, indicating that she should continue. 

“What are we going to name our kids?”

Will sputters and, for the second time that morning, falls off his chair. 

**Author's Note:**

> Well. There you have it. Clearly, this isn't the end of the story for Kym and Will. There's so much healing and growth to be done, so much left to be said. I may write these scenes as inspiration comes, but they will be in the form of Much! Shorter! One-shots! 
> 
> (Once again, the poem is my original work!)
> 
> I sincerely hope you enjoyed this. After the time and mental and emotional energy I spent on it, it means a lot to me. I hope I did them justice, and the story justice, and all of you justice as readers.
> 
> PPS.  
> If you want to know what dreams Kym was having while the hospital drugs were in her system, the answer from my notes is: "She's back in that warehouse, tied to that chair, and someone is cutting her arms with a knife, and he comes around to her front, and instead of Meyers or Bateau, it's Will, and his smile is so cruel, and so disgusting, and she can't stop screaming, but nothing comes out, and he just laughs at her."
> 
> PPPS.  
> In case your curious, Kym never has a bad dream about Will again. In case you're curious, they marry and have two daughters. In case you're curious, their names are Lauren and Lila. In case you-
> 
> Thank you for your time, and I hope you have a wonderful day.


End file.
